


The Continuing Adventures of Doctor Potts and Captain Stevens

by cptxrogers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Blow Jobs, Captain Stevens & Doctor Potts, Dog Tags, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealous Steve, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 05:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/cptxrogers
Summary: Tales of Captain Stevens, agent of SHIELD, and his trusty R&D man, Doctor Potts.They don't like each other much at first, but they're going to have to learn to work together if they want to make it through their undercover spy missions in one piece.A Steve/Tony AU inspired by the time heist scene in Endgame.





	1. An unfortunate meeting in an elevator

**Author's Note:**

> A series of short ficlets about the AU with which I am now TOTALLY OBSESSED. Come and yell at me about them on [tumblr](https://cptxrogers.tumblr.com/).
> 
> These chapters are not in chronological order so feel free to read them in whatever order you like.

Potts doesn’t care much for the military. He understands their utility in SHIELD but it’s hard for him to trust that the equipment he makes is being used for good.

He especially doesn’t care for Captain Stevens, big and blond and clean-cut, who always seems to be in his way or starting arguments about field tactics or finding some other way to push his buttons.

Potts is slumped in the elevator, looking forward to returning to his cozy lab, when he spots an unfortunately familiar uniform heading his way. _Typical_.

Captain Stevens enters the elevator like he owns it, walking with crisp, authoritative strides that set Potts’ teeth on edge.

Stevens gives him a minute nod as he steps inside and presses the button for one of the military floors.

“Doctor,” he says, and turns, and Potts averts his eyes from the hellish temptation that is Stevens, in uniform, from behind.

“Captain,” he acknowledges, voice carefully level.

The elevator pings, the doors close, and the descent begins.

“You boys busy in the lab?” Stevens asks, and it’s light and professional with a glint of something hidden beneath. “SHIELD riding you hard?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Potts says briskly. He can give as good as he gets. “I could be ridden harder.”

He’s hoping to unsettle Stevens, thinking a bit of innuendo would knock that smug half-smile off those annoyingly perfect features.

He realizes too late that he’s made a grave tactical error. Stevens rounds on him with a predatory grin.

“Can’t have that,” Stevens says, voice low. “SHIELD ought to be keeping you… professionally satisfied.”

Stevens reaches out, and Potts sees it in slow motion: Stevens’ fingers curling toward him, the tiny shake of hesitation, the moment his fingertips graze Potts’ lab coat sleeve and it’s like static electricity crackling between between them.

He’s staring at his wrist, dumbfounded, and Stevens takes half a step toward him. “Mind not on the job, doctor?” Stevens asks, voice far too quiet and far too close. “You seem distracted.”

He looks up, looks up further, meets Stevens’ eyes where he’s towering over him. He doesn’t like being made to feel small but somehow Stevens makes him instead feel _seen_ , keenly observed in a way that’s almost too revealing.

He nibbles at his lip, an old habit he thought he’d quashed, but it comes out when he’s unsure and he sees the way Stevens’ eyes flick down to his lips and then back when he does, and he thinks, _oh_.

Stevens takes another half step and they’re practically chest to chest, and the elevator is suddenly far too hot and far too close and then it _shudders_ , the whole structure shaking as it passes by a floor.

Stevens tips forward, lacking his usual military poise, and for a second they’re pressed together before Stevens catches himself with one hand splayed on the wall by Potts’ head. Potts could swear he can feel Stevens’ heartbeat thumping through his rib cage, the blood pulsing through his veins, the millimeters between their lips heavy with promise.

“Watch yourself, Captain,” he breathes, and he honestly doesn’t know if he’s warning Stevens off or daring him to come closer.

Stevens’ lips curl into a smile that’s pointed and bright, like he’s been waiting for the challenge, and it occurs to Potts that he’s in way over his head.

He swallows thickly. Stevens hasn’t moved away; he’s still crowding him up against the elevator wall, the air alive with friction.

“Don’t you want to give it up, Potts?” Stevens asks, all hot breath in his ear.

And he does want it, he really does. He would let Stevens fuck him right here in this elevator. He would love it.

Stevens inhales deeply, drinking in the heat between them. His voice drops lower still. “I can think of plenty of ways to keep you satisfied.”

Potts can’t think, can’t plan, can’t focus on anything other than the distance between their bodies, the ache he’s been ignoring for too long.

And then there’s a loud _DING_ , and the elevator grinds to a halt. As the doors open, Stevens pulls back, smirks, and strides out without a backward glance.

Potts is left clutching the elevator rail, his heart pounding. He is so screwed.


	2. Their first time in the field together

The first time Stevens takes Potts out into the field, it doesn’t go well.

Potts insists on coming along on the mission to infiltrate a Soviet base and steal back vital data about the Apollo lunar missions. He seems personally offended by the idea of astronauts being in danger.

The last thing Stevens wants is to babysit a civilian, but Potts tilts his chin up in a gesture of defiance and Stevens just _knows_ that this is one fight he isn’t going to win.

They manage to sneak into the base easily enough, and they find the punch card storage room. They snap pictures with the microdot camera that Potts has developed, and Stevens wouldn’t admit it out loud but it really is a fine piece of technology.

The trouble starts when they’re trying to get out. They’re heading for the same service elevator they used to enter the base when Stevens hears footsteps of guards approaching. He moves fast, shoving Potts through the nearest door.

They find themselves in a storage room, barely bigger than a closet. It’s uncomfortably small but it will have to do.

Stevens catches the offended look on Potts face at being pushed around. He opens his mouth to express his displeasure, but the guards are approaching fast -

Instinctively, Stevens reaches out and clamps his hand over Potts’ mouth. Potts’ eyes go wide with indignation, and Stevens tries to silently communicate with his face that they really, _really_ need to stay quiet.

Potts’ eyes narrow to suspicious lines, but he stays perfectly still.

They hear the footsteps slow and then halt. The guards must be right outside the door. Stevens doesn’t move a muscle; he’s barely breathing.

In the silence, he can feel Potts’ breath hot against his hand. The air between them feels heavy and humid, and this close he can see each one of Potts’ eyelashes, a distracting detail as he’s mesmerized by the way they sweep over sparkling brown eyes.

The sound of the guards’ conversation travels through the door, accompanied by the tangy smell of cigarette smoke.

The two of them stay rooted in place, hearts beating wildly as they look into each other’s eyes in the dim light, tension flickering between them.

Potts studies him, minutely, thoughtfully, assessingly. Stevens feels his composure slipping under the intensity of his gaze. 

He makes a concerted effort not to move closer and press himself up against Potts. He ignores the urge to lean in and catch more of the sharp scent of Potts’ cologne.

That would be unprofessional. 

Finally, _finally_ , the footsteps of the guards moving back down the corridor, and Stevens allows himself to breathe.

He motions for Potts to stay where he is, and carefully opens the door just a crack. The corridor is empty, so he pushes the door wide and beckons Potts to follow him.

They move swiftly towards the service elevator and Stevens thinks that they’re going to make it, they’re going to be okay after all.

Too late, he realizes he’s made a mistake. Guards file into the corridor from the other side where they must have been waiting. “Stoj!” a voice yells, and Stevens sees the glint of a gun barrel being pointed in their direction.

For a moment, he panics. He’s used to working alone, risking only his own life, trusting that if something goes wrong then the consequences will fall squarely on him. But now… now he thinks of Potts. How he’s responsible for him. How he trusted him. And the aching hollow feeling that fills his body at the thought of something happening to him.

He freezes.

Quick as a flash, Potts pushes Stevens behind him and digs something from his pocket. It’s a small tube, only a few inches in length, when Potts hits the button on top there’s a pop and the corridor is instantly filled with smoke. He hears the guards cough and splutter on the far side.

Stevens turns to Potts, astonished by his ingenuity. He makes a mental note to pay more attention to Potts when he’s babbling on about his gadgets in future.

“The knockout gas won’t hold them off for long,” Potts says urgently. “Let’s get out of here.”

Stevens doesn’t need to be told twice. He snaps back into military mode: They have to reach the elevator, and there’s no time to think.

He grabs Potts’ hand and runs, tugging Potts along behind him.

Their exit is hasty and inelegant, but they make it out past the perimeter of the base unscathed.

When they stop, Stevens looks down at where their hands are joined and notices Potts’ cheeks are flushed. That’s probably due to the exertion from running.

“Do you think we lost then?” Potts asks breathily, and his eyes are bright.

Stevens glances around. They’re in a sparsely wooded forest, and he can still hear the alarms coming from the base but there’s no sign of their pursuers.

“I think we lost them,” Stevens confirms, and he realizes he’s still holding Potts’ hand. He drops it quickly and busies himself checking the microdot so that Potts won’t see the blush spreading over his face.

“You did well back there,” he says, mostly to fill the silence. “With the gas thingy. That was good thinking.”

Potts beams at him, and it’s so earnest that something twists deep in Stevens’ chest.

“I couldn’t let my favorite Captain be captured by the Russians, could I?” he says.

Stevens raises an eyebrow. Potts’ favorite? He kinda likes the sound of that. Maybe they are finally moving past this antagonism between them.

“After all, who would mess up my lab and insult my work and annoy me all day if you weren’t around?” Potts teases.

Stevens scowls. Then again, maybe not.


	3. A mission gone wrong

Potts and Stevens work together better than anyone expected.

On missions, they make a good team: Potts is the brains, Stevens is the brawn. Stevens has an encyclopedic knowledge of tactics; Potts has a knack for creative improvisation.

When Stevens finds himself dangling from a window ledge 30 stories in the air after an extraction job goes sideways, Potts pulls up next to him in a helicopter with a grin. When they need to capture and decrypt Soviet messages, Potts builds an intercept antenna and Stevens steals a code book. Their skill sets complement each others’ perfectly.

Outside of missions, however, Potts continues to be a pain in the ass on a daily basis. When he’s not snarking about Stevens’ looks or his life choices or his old fashioned notions of morality, he’s sulking or hiding out in the workshop or refusing to follow orders.

Potts won’t do what he’s told, that’s the problem. He’s always bickering and nitpicking and getting in Stevens’ face about every little decision he disagrees with.

It comes to a head when they’re sneaking into the headquarters of a smuggling ring. Stevens wants to wait and scope the place out, but Potts breezily insists he’s already reviewed the building schematics and goes charging in.

That goes about as well as you would imagine. They get ambushed by a squad of well-armed goons. There’s a firefight. It gets ugly.

Stevens is cutting the alarm wiring to prevent them from calling for any more backup when he sees it: Potts darting out from behind a crate, too blatant, too exposed. A goon opposite, lining up the shot. A crack, a flash, and a spray of blood as a bullet hits Potts. The world narrows as Potts stumbles and falls.

Stevens moves faster than he has in his entire life. In an instant he’s at Potts’ side.

It’s a shoulder wound, bleeding profusely. He rips a strip from his shirt and presses it the wound to staunch the flow, crimson blood seeping through his fingers.

He sees it’s a through and through, so Potts will survive. But he’s pale and shaking and Stevens seethes.

Stevens looks around and zeros in on the goon who was shooting at Potts. The man quakes when he approaches.

Stevens expresses his displeasure quite violently.

He leaves the man alive, but only barely.

He scoops up Potts in a bridal carry and hightails it out of there, forgetting the mission completely and shushing Potts when he insists _he’s fine, it’s just a little bullet wound, no big deal._

–

When Potts wakes from surgery in the SHIELD med bay, Stevens lays into him. He tells him that he needs to be more careful in the field, that he should know how dangerous operations can be, that he’s not a soldier and he ought to protect himself better.

He gets quite heated about it. He maybe yells a bit.

Through all of it, Potts smiles at him woozily.

Eventually he runs out of steam. “What are you smiling about?” he asks warily.

Unruffled, Potts continues beaming at him. “You’re here,” he says.

Stevens shifts in the hard plastic chair. “Where else would I be?”

“You’ve been here all night.”

Stevens looks down at where his hand is resting on Potts’ bed. He considers saying that he would be here for anyone, but he knows that’s not true.

Potts’ hand moves over toward his, the tip of his finger grazing against Stevens’. The tiny movement draws all of Stevens’ attention.

He thinks about why he’s so angry. He thinks about how intolerable Potts being hurt is. He thinks about how bleak a life without Potts in it would be. He thinks about saying so.

But by the time he’s come to a decision, Potts has fallen asleep.

Stevens stands, brushes a hair from Potts’ forehead and, quick as a flash, drops a chaste kiss to his temple.

“Idiot,” he says. And then, very quietly, “ _My_ idiot.”


	4. 5 kisses that weren’t and one kiss that was

1.

Stevens has been complaining for weeks about the SHIELD-issued exploding pens. Apparently they have the unfortunate tendency of going off in agents’ pockets. Eventually, Potts gets fed up of hearing about it.

The next time has has a quiet few hours, he throws together a prototype pen gun with a delayed charge. It’s not his most elegant work, but it’ll get the job done.

When Stevens comes to the workshop to bother him some more, Potts hands him the pen gun and hopes it will be a sufficient distraction that he’ll be left in peace for a few minutes longer.

Stevens’ eyes go wide. “Is this-”

“Yup.”

“You made it for me?”

Potts shrugs. “Yup.”

“Potts, I could kiss you.”

Potts answers without thinking. “Yeah, okay.”

Stevens stops. Blinks. Squints at him. “Wait, what?”

Potts realizes what just came out of his mouth. “I said HAHA NO WAY,” he covers. Nice. Subtle. Smooth.

“Oh. Okay.” It’s odd, but it seems like Stevens looks genuinely disappointed for a moment.

–

2.

Stevens has gone and gotten himself stranded in Siberia. He was supposed to be investigating a top-secret hydroelectric dam the Soviets were building there, but last night he sent Potts a garbled radio message about how he’d had to stay behind and protect a group of defectors.

So Potts did the obvious thing and stole a SHIELD cargo plane.

Director Carter was going to give him hell for it, but he didn’t have time for formal requisitions when Stevens was in trouble.

The weather conditions in Siberia are abysmal and Potts can barely see where he’s flying through the thick snowy clouds. But he has his radio and he manages to zero in on Stevens’ position.

“Captain Stevens,” he calls over the transceiver. “I heard you and some friends needed a lift.”

“Potts!” Stevens’ voice is crackly over the radio. “By jove, it’s good to hear your voice. I thought we’d be stuck here in the snow until spring.”

Potts smiles despite himself. “Do I get that kiss now?”

“Potts, if you get us all out of here I’ll kiss you anywhere you’d like.”

Potts nearly loses control of the plane when he hears that, but he pulls himself together enough to land and take on Stevens and the men.

It’s probably just as well there are too many people around for him and Stevens to be left alone, or he might say something he’d regret.

–

3.

“I need a DNA sample. Now.”

Potts isn’t in the mood for niceties. He’s halfway through a very exciting experiment which could actually combine strands of different DNA together, but to continue he urgently needs more human samples. Stevens had been the nearest warm body.

Stevens waggles his eyebrows. “You want saliva, blood, or something else?”

Potts glowers. Stevens never takes his scientific projects seriously. “Saliva,” he says curtly.

“You wanna collect a sample yourself?” Stevens is grinning like he thinks he’s hilarious.

Potts has a million things to do today, and trading barbs with Stevens is nowhere near the top of his list.

“A cheek swab will be fine.”

He grabs Stevens’ jaw, a bit more roughly than is strictly required, and shoves a q-tip into his mouth.

–

4.

Potts hates going undercover.

They’d got a tip that someone was planning a heist at a fancy Vegas casino tonight, and Stevens had insisted that he needed Potts in the field to deal with the casino’s electronic security system.

Which, fine, but he doesn’t see why their cover has to involve playing craps, of all things.

He tugs at the hem of the stupid tuxedo Stevens had made him wear. He feels distinctly out of place among the rich glitterati of the casino. All he wants is to go home to his nice, quiet workshop.

Stevens, looking annoyingly elegant in his black tie, swings an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, baby,” he says, waving a pair of dice in his face, “give us a kiss for luck.”

Potts scowls.

Stevens leans in close to his ear. “Potts, _sweetheart_ , you’re supposed to be playing my arm candy, remember? Try to at least look like you aren’t repulsed by me.”

Potts’ scowl deepens. But he relents and takes Stevens’ hand, dropping a quick kiss onto his knuckles.

Stevens rolls snake eyes.

–

5.

People think that working for SHIELD is glamorous and exciting, but there are some parts of the job they don’t put in the employment brochure.

Stevens pushes open the door to the workshop and the snarky comment Potts had been about to make dies on his lips when he catches sight of him.

Stevens is slumped, his face is grey, and his eyes look vacant.

“Oh, Jesus, Stevens.” Potts pushes what he’s working on aside and goes to him. “Rough mission?”

Stevens nods but doesn’t say anything.

Potts knows that there aren’t any words that will help. So does the only thing he can think of, which is to pull him into an awkward hug.

Stevens freezes, and for a minute Potts thinks he’s mad a bad miscalculation. But then Stevens throws his arms around him in return and hugs him tight.

Potts rubs comfortingly circles into his back and pretends he can’t hear Stevens sniffling.

When Stevens eventually lets him go, his eyes are red and puffy. Potts reaches up and carefully wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

Stevens gives him a small, sad smile and turns his face into Potts’ hand. He presses a kiss into his palm.

“Thank you, Potts,” he says quietly, “I needed that.”

For once Potts can’t bring himself to say anything mean in return.

–

6.

“I’ve got a present for you.” Potts bounces on the balls of his feet. He’s been working on this for months and it’s finally ready.

“Yeah?” Stevens raises an eyebrow. “What kind of present?”

Potts very carefully takes the watch from its case and straps it round Stevens’ wrist. It looks like a regular wristwatch. “Try that button there,” he instructs.

Stevens taps the button on the side of the watch and gasps when a flat circle of light bursts from his wrist.

“What is it?” Stevens asks, turning his wrist and looking at it from every angle. Three translucent rings surround a blue center with a shining white star in the middle.

“It’s a light shield,” Potts tells him, feeling rather proud. Hard light holograms were decades ahead of current technology and he’d poured his heart and soul into that device.

Stevens pokes the shield and his jaw drops open when it blocks his touch.

“It’ll deflect knives, bullets, most light munitions. And when it’s not deployed it’s indistinguishable from an ordinary watch.”

“Potts, that’s _amazing_.”

Potts glows. “I wanted to keep you safe,” he admits. “For when I wasn’t around. We both know you get into no end of trouble when I’m not there to look out for you.”

Stevens taps the button to retract the shield and leans over the desk.

“ _You’re_ amazing.”

Potts has to hide his face behind a clipboard so Stevens won’t see him blushing.

Stevens puts a finger on top of the clipboard and pushes it out of the way. “It’s true. You’re always looking out for me.”

Potts can feel his cheeks glowing. “Someone has to.” He waits for Stevens to start teasing him.

But Stevens smiles at him ever so softly instead. “Then I’m glad it’s you.”

“Oh,” Potts says, coherently. He looks down when Stevens places a hand on top of his own on the workbench. “Oh.”

Stevens leans in closer. His eyes are the most fascinating shade of blue. “Thank you. For everything. For being you.”

“You know,” Potts says, too distracted to feel self-conscious, “you still owe me that kiss.”

Stevens grins. “Always keeping score, huh Potts?” he teases, and Potts is about to object but then Stevens grabs him by the tie and pulls him in for a most enthusiastic kiss.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing heavily. “Are we even now?” Stevens asks with a twinkle in his eye.

A huge, stupid smile spreads over Potts’ face. “Not even close,” he says, and leans in to kiss Stevens again.


	5. Undercover missions & unexpected realizations

They’re in a bank vault in Switzerland; one of those places where very rich people can store just about anything with no questions asked as long as they have enough money.

And right now they’re pretty sure someone is hiding enriched plutonium down here, based on the insistent pinging of the Geiger counter watch Potts designed for Stevens.

Potts is distracting the guard with his charms, because of course his French is better than Stevens’. He makes sure the guard is facing him and they chat about movies while Stevens sneaks down to the basement sublevels below. Even over here in Europe they love _Jaws_ , it turns out.

Everything seems fine until Potts hears a crackling message over his earpiece. “Potts. Bit of a problem. One of the doors down here has an electronic lock.”

Potts swears under his breath. He’s currently occupied and there’s no way Stevens will be able to hack the electronics by himself.

He thinks fast. He persuades the guard to go fetch them both a cup of coffee and hurries down to the sublevels to help.

“Alright, Stevens, try to hold on. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he hisses under his breath.

But when he reaches the basement a few minutes later, he finds Stevens has taken off the panel and is up to his elbows in wiring.

“Just a second,” Stevens calls, and then he smiles triumphantly when he touches two wires together and the door slides open.

Potts stares in astonishment. “How did you know how to do that?”

Stevens winks at him. “I picked up a few things here and there.”

“But you’re terrible with technology. Everyone knows that.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m a man of many skills,” Stevens says, giving him a look of mock offense. Then his face softens. “I learned it from watching you.”

–

They’re at a gala ball, of all things. They’ve been sent to locate and surveil the Ukrainian ambassador, who SHIELD believes is working with AIM operatives.

But the ballroom is large and the guestlist was extensive, so it’s hard to find anyone in the crowd.

Potts gets tired of trying to squeeze between guests at the buffet and suggests they move to the center of the dance floor for a better view.

Stevens frowns and indicates the well-dressed attendees around them. “I think all these people might notice if we tread on each other’s toes while dancing. I doubt we could fit in with this lot.”

Potts shrugs one shoulder. “Speak for yourself. I know how to waltz.”

“Potts, you can _dance_?”

Stevens looks bizarrely overjoyed at that discovery.

“Yes?” Potts offers, not quite seeing what the fuss is about. “My mother was very keen that I learned what she called ‘all the essential comportments of a young man.’”

Stevens tilts his head to one side. “You are full of surprises.”

Potts isn’t sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t have to think of a reply as Stevens hustles him towards the dance floor.

“Come on then,” Stevens says, cheerfully taking his hand. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

Potts can’t imagine Stevens following anyone, least of all him, but they make their way onto the floor anyway. Stevens is scanning the crowd, looking for their target. They need to blend in, so he puts one hand on Stevens’ waist and clasps the other at shoulder level.

It feels sort of nice, actually. Stevens’ hand is calloused and warm in his and he’s smiling unguardedly.

When the music starts they move together, and it’s smoother than Potts would have thought possible. The slightest pressure from his hand and Stevens responds, swaying back and forth in perfect time, the two of them moving as one.

He feels daring and drops Stevens into a dip. Stevens grins wildly as he leans back, trusting Potts to hold him up. When Potts pulls him upright again and into a twist, there’s a moment where their bodies align perfectly and Potts can feel every inch of Stevens from head to toe.

He feels Stevens breathing heavily, and he’s sure the dancing can’t be that exerting for a man who runs marathons at the weekends for fun.

Potts surreptitiously looks around the pairs of dancers, searching for the ambassador. Still no sign of him in the crowd.

The music is reaching its peak, so he leads Stevens into a spin. Stevens takes the move with grace, unfurling his arms with a flourish before rolling back in. Potts takes hold of him and drops him into a final dip as the music ends.

They stay frozen in place for a moment, Stevens leaned back in Potts arms, the two of them looking at each other, neither quite ready to be done even though the music has finished and all the other dancers are returning to their seats or to the bar.

“You really are full of surprises,” Stevens says, and it comes out breathy.

They never do find the ambassador that night.

–

They’re on the cold docks of Rotterdam, and in the dark of the night the city lights are reflected in the dirty water below.

It’s quiet as they sneak between the shipping containers, piled high up into the sky. After days of tedious recon work posing as dock workers, they’ve found the name of the ship that’s been smuggling in heroin. Now they just have to find the right container in the darkness.

Potts has already slipped a locating beacon into one of the containers which he should be able to track with his handheld receiver. But the receiver is playing up, the signal fading in and out, and he smacks the side of it to try and reset it.

What happens next is Potts’ own fault, really. Stevens is checking the perimeter and Potts is so focused on the device in front of him that he’s not paying attention to his surroundings.

So it’s on him when he hears a soft click and feels the cold, hard weight of a gun muzzle pressed to the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” a gruff voice says.

Potts sighs and holds up his hands, knowing when he’s beat.

“Stevens!” the voice calls. “We know you’re out there. Give yourself up now or the nerd gets it!”

Potts is pushed out into the open, gun still at his head. It’s not very dignified.

He hears Stevens’ footsteps hurrying toward their location. And then, across the gap between two containers, he sees Stevens approaching, vibrating with fury. “If you lay a finger on him,” Stevens warns, voice cold as ice, “I’ll kill you.”

The man holding the gun sniggers, an ugly, guttural sound. “I’m the one in control here, _klootzak_!”

Potts sees the plan forming in Stevens’ head. He sees Stevens look at him, look at the man holding the gun, look down at the trash can he’s standing beside. He sees Stevens make the calculations.

 _Please tell me he’s not doing what I think he’s doing_ , Potts thinks, but he learned long ago that no plan is too stupid or too dangerous for Stevens to consider.

Stevens grabs the lid off the trash can and holds it in front of him. Potts is almost certain the flimsy metal is too thin to stop a bullet.

“Let him go and I’ll let you leave here in one piece,” Stevens snarls.

The man keeps his arm clamped around Potts’ neck but turns so the gun aimed at Stevens rather than Potts. Stevens smirks like that was just what he wanted.

“I’m right here if you think you can take me,” Stevens says, because of course he has to antagonize the man further.

“You would risk your own life for this -” the man looks Potts up and down and sneers, “for this loser?”

 _Harsh_ , thinks Potts. Possibly true, but still harsh.

“In a heartbeat,” Stevens says. And that makes Potts’ head spin around, because Stevens had sounded entirely earnest and one hundred percent sure.

“You would?” Potts asks, even though now is clearly not the time.

Stevens smiles at him very gently. “You ought to know by now, Potts,” he says, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” 

Potts’ heart does something funny at that.

“For heavens’ sake,” the man interrupts. “I’m in the middle of threatening your lives here.”

Stevens’ attention snaps back to the gun. “I’m not worried,” he says coolly, and Potts is glad about that because he sure is. “Potts knows what to do.”

Potts opens his mouth to object, because he _really doesn’t_ know what to do, but then he catches Stevens’ eye and he understands. Stevens gives him the most minute nod.

“You back off or I’ll shoot -” the man starts.

But Stevens is already moving, leaping toward a crate with the trash bin lid held in front of him like a shield.

The man starts shooting, wild and inaccurate, and Potts takes his opportunity and elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs.

He gives a surprised _oof_ and he’s turning round to point the gun at Potts again, but then Stevens curls and unravels and sends the trash can lid sailing towards them at tremendous speed. The edge of the metal hits the man in the head with a very satisfying _whack_ and he drops to his knees.

“Good shot, Stevens!” Potts cheers, and Stevens is at his side in an instant, finishing the guy with a vicious uppercut that knocks him clean out.

He falls to the ground with a thud. Stevens kicks the gun away from the unconscious man and then his hands are all over Potts: on his face, running through his hair, up and down his shoulders.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” Potts beams at Stevens. “My hero,” he says, a little more syrupy than he intended.

Stevens puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a one-armed hug. “My idiot,” he says, dropping a kiss onto Potts’ ruffled hair.


	6. Potts has a thing about Stevens’ dog tags

Potts keeps ending up with Stevens’ dog tags.

It starts with Stevens in civvies, getting ready to go surveil a target in a nearby bar. He realizes he still has his tags around his neck, and that’s no good for an undercover op.

He takes them off and hands them to Potts, who will be monitoring from the surveillance van.

“Look after these for me, will you, Potts?”

Potts grumbles, “What am I, your mother?” but he takes them and keeps them safe anyway.

–

It somehow becomes a habit.

Whenever Stevens is going undercover and Potts isn’t coming with him, he gives him his tags before he leaves.

It comforting, in a strange way. Stevens might be miles from home and in an unfamiliar place, pretending to be someone he’s not among dangerous people, but he knows a little piece of his real self is safe with Potts.

When he gets back from his missions, Potts will drop the dog tags into his hand and make a dismissive comment and they both pretend it’s no big deal.

But occasionally, Stevens will close his hand around Potts’ for just a moment, and Potts will look at him with a weight that says far more than words.

–

Eventually it goes bad, like it always does. Stevens’ cover gets blown while he’s infiltrating a mafia operation in Chicago and he gets beaten to hell and tossed in a cell in a dank warehouse in the South Side.

His captors lack the skills for the more sadistic forms of interrogation, but they make up for it with an enthusiasm for petty violence. It’s not the worst confinement he’s endured, but it’s not an experience he’s keen to repeat.

Fortunately for him they aren’t much better at guard duty than they are at interrogation, and after a few days he manages to get hold of a pen. It doesn’t take long for him to use it to pick the lock on his handcuffs, jimmy open the door to the cage they’ve been keeping him in, and make his escape.

The mafiosos took his radio equipment and he doesn’t want to risk contacting SHIELD on an open line so it takes him another two days to make it back to Camp Lehigh.

When he walks through the gate he heads straight to the research lab, hoping to catch Potts before he inevitably gets hauled off to the med bay. He’s got an ugly black eye and he’s pretty sure his jaw is fractured, and several agents he passes on the way express alarm at his condition.

Still, for now at least, he pushes open the door to the lab and just breathes, taking in the low buzzing of the fabrication machines and the smell of motor oil and savoring the feeling of being _home_.

And then he catches sight of Potts, slumped over a workbench. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he’s been crying. He looks, frankly, a total mess.

Stevens’ heart aches with how good it is to see him.

Potts looks up and takes him in, and Stevens sees joy, worry, anger, and guilt all pass over his face in the span of a few seconds. Eventually his expression settles on an unconvincing attempt at casual indifference.

“You made it home in more or less one piece, I see,” Potts says, and he’s trying for aloof but his voice is shaky.

Stevens walks over and puts a hand on Potts’ shoulder. Potts lets out a tiny sob of relief before visibly pulling himself together.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting these back?”

He uncurls his fist to reveal Stevens’ dog tags, which he’s been holding into so tightly they’ve carved lines into the skin of his hands.

Stevens hesitates, then gently closes Potts’ hand back up and covers it with his own.

“Why don’t you keep those for me?”

Potts sniffs and squints at him. Stevens knows he can’t bear anything that seems like pity.

“I’ll only lose them,” Stevens continues. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

Potts considers that and eventually nods. He pushes up his glasses, wipes his eyes with the cuff of his lab coat, and puts the tags around his neck.

The tags sit on Potts’ shirt, next to his heart. It seems right somehow.

He places a hand on Potts’ chest and feels his heart beating. Stevens smiles for the first time in a week.

“I had to make it home,” Stevens says quietly. “My heart’s here.”


	7. Peggy puts up with a lot

Peggy sighs. There are a thousand things she needs to be doing, but right now she has the SHIELD accounting to deal with. It’s not the most exciting part of the job, but it does need to be done.

She levels an assessing gaze at the pair sitting opposite her. She had recruited Captain Stevens personally, but she didn’t know the other man. Civilian contractor, her notes say. Some genius they’d borrowed from MIT.

“Potts, is it?”

He smiles nervously and nods. “That’s right, Director.”

“I have some questions about expenses from your research lab.”

He looks the picture of innocence. “Yes?”

“Last month the lab spent five thousand dollars upgrading the grips on our grappling guns. Were the standard grips defective?”

“Not exactly. Stevens didn’t like the old grip. He said it was too sticky. So I said I’d design him a new one.”

“And the eight thousand dollars spent on the in-ear comms devices?

“The old ones were bothering Stevens, Director. He didn’t like how they felt.”

“I see.”

That seemed a little excessive, but the well-being of the agents was SHIELD’s top priority. If that meant splurging on some upgrades, so be it.

She turns to Stevens. “I’ve heard excellent reports about your work in the field.” He nods sharply. “But I have some questions about your expenses as well.”

He looks a little guilty at that.

“It says here you requisitioned SHIELD’s brand new particle collider for several hours last week for ‘educational purposes’. What purposes were those?”

Stevens shifts in his seat. “Potts was dying to see it, ma’am.”

She nods slowly. “And do you think that was a good use of SHIELD resources?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“What is that assessment based on?”

“It made Potts smile, ma’am.”

Ahh. It was like _that_. “I see.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Will that be a problem, ma’am?”

She considers the two of them. She looks over the file detailing the many, many ways they have saved each from dangerous situations. She notes the way they keep sneaking glances at each other when they think the other is looking. She recalls the dreamy little smile that crossed Potts’ face whenever he talked about Stevens.

She decides she has bigger problems to deal with than a couple of hopelessly besotted employees.

“That will be fine, Stevens. Now both of you get out of my office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stevens says, and stands, tugging Potts to his feet.

“And try not to spend any more SHIELD money on little gifts for each other on the way out.”


	8. Stevens' favorite thing about Potts

There are many things Stevens likes about Potts. He likes how Potts is always full of ideas and how he can create marvelous devices out of the strangest collections of components. He likes how Potts calls him out on his bullshit but is always loyal when it counts. And he likes how when Potts looks at him he sees the very best version of him he could be.

He also very much likes the way Potts tastes. He particularly likes Potts’ ass, likes spreading him open and diving in face first. He likes how Potts is so responsive, the way he moans when Stevens licks him in broad stripes and gasps when Stevens flicks his tongue in teasing little swipes. He likes the noises Potts makes and he likes it when Potts lets himself be loud because he knows it turns Stevens on to hear him.

He like how Potts is always up for it, whether they’re out on a mission or down in the research lab, even (especially) when they’re arguing. He likes how one minute they’ll be yelling at each other and getting in each other’s faces and the next they’ll both have hands everywhere, frantically shoving clothing aside and until they’re skin to skin and Stevens can push Potts face down onto his work bench and gets his hands on his ass and whatever it was they were arguing about is long forgotten.

He likes getting two fingers into Potts, how he’s so warm and tight and how he feels like velvet inside. He likes the way Potts gets all needy when he’s fingered, wheedling and demanding more and eventually begging Stevens to fuck him. He likes the way Potts shudders with anticipation when he hears Stevens unzip his uniform pants, the sound of his zipper practically Pavlovian at this point.

He likes teasing Potts sometimes, likes making him wait and hearing him whine, and he likes jerking himself off nice and light while he watches Potts getting increasingly desperate. And he most of all likes it when he gives in to what they both want and slides inside him, slow and deep and perfect.

There are many things Stevens likes about Potts. But he thinks Potts’ ass might be at the very top of the list.


	9. Sharing a tent, oh ho ho how awkward

It’s not the master assassins or the booby trapped lairs or the tanks full of hungry sharks that get Stevens. In the end, it’s having to share a tent with Potts that nearly kills him.

They’re deep in the Peruvian rain forest on the trail of a dangerous alien artifact hidden in an ancient ruined temple. Stevens has been dispatched to bring back the artifact before it falls into the wrong hands and Potts has come along to track the unusual energy signature it’s giving off.

They’ve had to stop and camp out for the night in a cramped SHIELD-issue tent, and the air is unbelievably hot and humid. When Stevens awakens in the dim morning light, he finds they’ve both kicked off their sleeping bags during the night and ended up pressed up against each other.

Potts’ head is pillowed against his chest, their legs are tangled together, and his hand has somehow found its way to cup Potts’ ass. He is achingly hard, and he prays to whoever is listening that Potts doesn’t shift the few inches to his left and find that out for himself.

It’s exceedingly nice, being curled up like this, even if it is slightly mortifying. And Stevens may try his best to do the right thing when it comes to the job, but secretly he’s a terrible person, because he doesn’t do what he obviously should - disentangle himself, shuffle back toward his side of the tent, and act like this never happened.

Instead he lets himself pretend, just for a minute, that this is real. He inhales deeply and breathes in the scent of Potts and that gooey hair wax he likes to use and he wonders what it would be like to wake up with Potts every day.

He imagines Potts, soft and confused like he is first thing in the morning, the way his nose scrunches when he squints as he looks for his glasses, and he imagines bringing him coffee in bed and Potts smiling that smile like Stevens is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even though that’s mostly about the coffee.

He imagines that Potts would first take the coffee and then pull him into a kiss, and he could run his hands through Potts’ hair and tell him good morning and offer to cook him breakfast. And Stevens is kind of a terrible cook, but it wouldn’t matter because Potts would come up behind him while he’s whisking the eggs and put his arms around his waist and kiss the junction of his shoulder and his neck and Stevens would let himself be distracted and they’d end up back in bed with the breakfast forgotten.

It’s a lovely fantasy, and here in the sticky half-light of the dawn he lets himself indulge in it for a moment, knowing that soon enough Potts will wake up and reality will come crashing in and it will be back to business as usual between them.

It’s a lovely fantasy. It’s just too bad Potts doesn’t feel the same way.


	10. Potts doesn't miss Stevens

It’s very quiet down in the workshop. And that’s fine, it’s  _absolutely fine_ , because now Potts finally has some time to himself. He finalizes the watch camera he’s been working on. He finds a way to hide a communicator in a pack of cigarettes. He even manages to fix the sticky trigger on the standard shield-issue grappling gun.

He’s glad that Stevens isn’t here, getting in his way as usual. If he were, Potts wouldn’t be able to get anything done. So it’s great. It’s super. Really, it’s much better when he’s alone.

But he does sort of worry. Just a little bit. It’s been  _days_  since he saw Stevens. Maybe Stevens has been sent on a secret mission. Maybe the mission has gone wrong. Maybe he needs Potts and Potts isn’t there. 

If anything happened to Stevens, then Potts would get it in the neck from Director Carter. Yes, that’s the problem. That’s why he’s worried. 

He pokes dejectedly at a smoke grenade. 

He hears the swish of the workshop doors opening and firm, familiar footsteps. He perks up immediately.

“Miss me, Potts?” 

Stevens drops himself onto Potts’ workbench, upsetting the neatly arranged grenade parts. His uniform is grubby and he looks tired, but he’s smiling all the same.

“Pff,” Potts huffs, carefully cultivating an air of haughty indifference, “not likely.”


	11. Stevens isn't jealous of Rhodey

One day while Stevens is in the workshop bothering Potts about gear upgrades, the air force liaison to SHIELD stops by to visit. Terrence Rhodes, his name is, and Potts knows him from his days at MIT.

“Hey, platypus,” Potts greets Rhodes, smiling broadly.

Rhodes walks right up to Potts and hugs him, totally casual. As if that was something they did a lot. As if hugging Potts was an option.

Stevens had no idea that Potts was a hugger. Could he have been hugging Potts all this time? He bets Potts gives really nice hugs.

Rhodes is very charming. And very handsome. And he seems like a stand-up guy, he really does.

So there’s no reason for Stevens to take a slight dislike to the man. No reason at all.

When he cracks silly jokes and makes Potts laugh, that’s absolutely grand. And when he teases Potts about being a boffin and reaches over and  _ruffles his hair_ , that’s totally fine and dandy and if Stevens can’t stop sneaking glances at Potts being all ruffled it’s only because he’s not used to him looking so unkempt.

And when Potts says that he misses Rhodes and he wishes he were at SHIELD more and Stevens snaps the radio antenna he’s playing with clean in half it’s only because he’s distracted by having an unfamiliar face around.

So Stevens beats a hasty retreat because he has work to do, important SHIELD work that doesn’t involve Potts, and he’s only a little perturbed when Rhodes corners him in the corridor.

When Rhodes says that he’s been friends with Potts for a long time, since school, and in fact Potts introduced him to his wife (he has a wife!), a fearsome air force pilot called Danvers, maybe that’s somewhat reassuring.

And when Rhodes says that Potts has told him all about Stevens, that Potts in fact never shuts up about Stevens and Stevens’ adventures and all of Stevens’ important missions, that’s a tiny bit gratifying.

And when Rhodes implies in no uncertain terms that Stevens had better be careful, that he’d better treat Potts right, that he ought to know that Potts is a gentle soul with a big heart who deserves the world, Stevens can’t help but agree.

And when Stevens sees a fiercely loyal friendship and he recognizes a kindred spirit who wants only the best for Potts, Stevens really does warm to the man and takes his advice to heart. 

He decides that if Rhodes is important to Potts then he’s important to Stevens too, and it turns out he really is rather charming and god knows they could all use more friends in their line of work and Stevens concludes that Rhodes is all right by him after all.


	12. Pre-mission blowjobs are vitally important

Stevens and Potts have a ritual, of sorts. Whenever Stevens is going out into the field, he’ll head down to the research lab and Potts will appear with some new gizmo he’s invented and hand it over with a stern warning to bring it back in one piece, even though they both know Stevens will inevitably break it or lose it and Potts never seems to mind when he does.

“Ready for your mission, Stevens?” Potts will ask, and Stevens will nod, and then Potts will say, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” and he’ll produce some bizarre gadget which turns out to be shockingly useful.

One week it’s, “Grappling gun?”

The next week, “Exploding pen?”

Sometimes it’ll be, “Microdot camera?”

And then one time, “Pre-mission blowjob?”

Stevens blinks. “Excuse me?”

A long silence. “Pre-mission… blowjob? You know, for luck?”

Stevens pauses. Considers. “That’s an option?”

Potts shrugs. “Sure. If it would help. With, uhh, with the mission.”

“With the mission,” Stevens repeats.

“It could. Aid your concentration,” Potts suggests.

And that seems reasonable enough, doesn’t it?

“When you put it like that,” he concedes. “If it’s… important for my success as a SHIELD agent.”

“Very important,” Potts agrees. “Absolutely essential, in fact.”

Next thing he knows, Potts is down on his knees, right here in the research lab, and he’s rubbing his face on the front of Steven’s uniform pants, and dear lord, Stevens has never even allowed himself to imagine such a thing. But Potts is smiling, really smiling, and he brings up a hand to palm the growing bulge there and Stevens thinks he must have slipped into some kind of fantasy.

“Can I?” Potts asks, and Stevens isn’t sure what exactly he’s referring to but it doesn’t matter because the answer is the same in any case.

“Yes,” he says, and he means  _please_ and  _don’t stop_ and  _anything you want, absolutely anything_.

Potts moves slowly and carefully, like he’s giving Stevens the chance to say no, as if there was the faintest chance that Stevens would want to stop him, and he pops the button on Stevens’ pants and draws down the zipper.

Potts’ knuckles brush against Stevens’ dick as he does and Stevens forgets how to breathe. All he can think about is  _Potts_ and  _Potts’ hands_  and the way Potts is looking at him like he’s something precious.

Potts pushes his underwear down and draws out his dick and Stevens whimpers, the sound loud in the still room. He shoves a fist into his mouth and wills himself to be quiet, to be still, lest he should ruin the moment.

Potts gets a hand around his dick and looks up at him, beaming like this is the highlight of his year. “You don’t have to be quiet for my sake,” he says, and then adds under his breath, “I like knowing you feel good.”

And that is so sweet, and Potts should know by now that’s he’s always the high point of Stevens’ day, and Stevens is going to tell him so but then Potts boldly licks a stripe up Stevens’ cock from the base all the way to the tip and words utterly desert him.

Potts uses a hand to jerk Stevens off, nice and slow, and then he leans to take just the tip of his cock into his mouth, sucking at the head with the same focused determination he uses when he’s working on his inventions.

Stevens has always liked Potts’ mouth, the way the corners turn down when he’s disapproving and the way he smiles this goofy crooked smile when Stevens makes terrible jokes and the way he chews at his lower lip when he’s nervous. But seeing his lips spread around Stevens’ cock and feeling the warm, wet texture inside, now he realizes that Potts’ mouth might actually be one of the nation’s greatest treasures. That such a wonder should be bestowed on him seems a blessing beyond anything he has the right to expect.

His hands twitch and he grasps at the wall behind him, and Potts is only just getting started but it’s already so much, and then Potts takes one of his hands and puts it on the back of his head and Stevens grips Potts’ hair between his fingers and it’s all  _so good_.

“Potts,” he says, and it comes out husky and lewd and a tiny bit broken, and Stevens realizes he’s going to be ruined for the rest of his life because surely nothing else, no one else on the planet could possibly feel this good.

Potts hums, warm and satisfied, and the vibrations travel all the way up Stevens’ dick and he has to clench all the muscles in his legs to stop himself from thrusting deep into Potts’ throat.

That just seems to encourage Potts further, and he takes Stevens down in one huge mouthful until his nose is pressing against his pubic hair and his cock is pushing up against the back of his throat and Stevens’ lets out a ragged, desperate sound of want.

Potts looks up at him and his eyes are gleaming, and there’s mirth and satisfaction written all over his face, and Stevens doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him with such adoration in his entire life and he feels blessed and moved and unworthy all over again.

He doesn’t want this to end, wants to stay here and make this last forever, but he knows he won’t last long because it’s all so overwhelming. And then Potts does something remarkable with his tongue and he stops thinking all together.

He can feel himself teetering on an edge, a thrumming need building low in his belly, sensations sparkling across his skin and down his limbs and in the center of it all is Potts. Then he makes the mistake of glancing down and seeing Potts deep throating him in long, hungry slides and it’s too much and it’s all going to be over far too soon.

Stevens tries to be gentlemanly and pull out before he comes, but Potts grabs onto his hips and holds him in place. Stevens gasps and twitches and his vision whites out and he comes down the back of Potts’ throat, riding a wave of warm, wet pleasure.

He opens his eyes to see Potts swallow in a display of considerable enthusiasm, though as Stevens withdraws some cum dribbles down Potts’ chin and into his impeccable goatee. He starts to apologize but Potts swipes at the blob with his thumb and licks it clean and that’s an image that will be haunting Stevens’ fantasies until the end of time, he has no doubt.

Stevens grips helplessly at the wall, all coherence having deserted him, and Potts tucks him neatly back into his pants and carefully zips him up.

Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Potts gets to his feet and pats Stevens on the cheek and says, “There. Ship shape and mission ready.”

Stevens doesn’t feel mission ready. Stevens feels like his brain has just been sucked out through his dick.

“That was… you were…” he tries, and Potts shoots him a very smug smile.

“For luck on the mission,” Potts reiterates.

Oh. So this was a one time only sort of deal, Stevens supposes. One of those work things. That’s too bad.

“Come back in one piece and we can do that again,” Potts offers, and  _oh_ , maybe not just a one time deal. “For congratulations on a job well done.”

Stevens feels a renewed sense of purpose in his mission. Seems like Potts had been right about that.

He sure was lucky to have someone by his side as dedicated to his work as Potts.


	13. Cuddles & fluff

Captain Stevens is not a cuddler. 

He is a professional: detached, self-assured, independent. He does not hug. He does not snuggle. He does not _embrace_.

If it should happen that sometimes when he comes home from a tough mission and he’s dead on his feet by the time he makes it to the research lab, and Potts comes over and takes his gear and fuses over him and smiles like Stevens dropping in is the highlight of his day, perhaps he might then wrap his arms around Potts for a bit, but only because he’s tired and he’s perhaps unstable on his feet and he wouldn’t want to fall.

And if, on the occasional Friday night when the hard-working members of SHIELD celebrate a week of successful operations with a few rounds at a local dive bar, Potts ends up sitting in his lap, it’s only because the bar is busy. And there aren’t enough chairs. And anyway, Peggy’s _very good friend and companion_ Angie is sat in her lap too, and no one seems to mind that. 

And if, when Potts accompanies him into the field and they have to get a hotel for the night, they should opt for a double room instead of two singles, it’s simply cheaper that way and they wouldn’t want to waste SHIELD funding. And if, when Stevens drapes his arms around Potts’ middle, he notices he’s ever so warm and just a little bit squishy, isn’t that nice? And if it helps them both to sleep then what’s the harm, really, aren’t they simply preparing themselves to perform their important jobs to the best of their abilities?

Captain Stevens is not a cuddler. But he might, perhaps, make an exception for Potts.


	14. Someone's making out in the supply closet

Agent Jared is new at SHIELD. He’s a hard worker and he’s keen to impress Director Carter, who is one hell of a leader. But he’s quickly discovered there are some aspects of the job he wasn’t fully prepared for by the academy.

He’s on guard duty, which isn’t the most exciting but is important, so he’s patrolling lower corridor 2B. This is one of the quieter levels - there’s not much down here besides the research lab.

But as he moves down the corridor, he hears something. He stops, stills, listens intently. 

There it is again. A sort of wet panting sound. It’s followed by the rustling of fabric and the bump of something heavy being displaced.

He looks around, but there’s no sign of anyone but him down here. He crouches low and creeps slowly along the corridor, as stealthy as he can, just like he was taught in covert ops class. 

When he reaches a door marked Auxiliary Supply Room 37A, he hears it again. Heavy breaths, the rattle of a shelf, and what sounds like… what must be… someone in distress, a muffled moaning like they have a rag stuffed in their mouth.

Jared imagines the possibilities: a kidnapping, a hostage, a rogue agent attacking other SHIELD personnel. His heart pounds in his chest, but he knows what he has to do.

There’s no time to call for backup. The moans are getting louder now, the sound carrying through the door, and whatever poor SHIELD agent is inside is clearly being subjected to something terrible…

“Freeze!” he yells as he kicks the door down, gun at the ready. “Back away from that agent!”

Two figures spring apart and Jared squints to adjust his eyes to the darkness. The two figures have their hands in the air, and neither of them looks injured.

“Um,” one of them says. “Jared, isn’t it?”

Jared squints some more and is surprised to recognize Stevens, the senior agent who’d welcomed him on his first day. The other guy looks vaguely familiar too. Jared thinks he’s seen him scuttling around the research lab before.

He turns to Stevens. “Are you in distress, sir?” 

It’s hard to say in the dim lighting, but Stevens’ face looks flushed. “No, no distress here. Potts and I -” he indicates the other man, who is readjusting his lab coat, “we were just. Checking. Checking the inventory.”

“The inventory, sir?”

“The inventory of, uhh, mops,” Potts says, waving a mop at him.

“Yes,” Stevens says. “Mops. They’re very important. For, for keeping SHIELD clean.” 

“We don’t want any disease outbreaks, do we now?” Potts adds.

Jared supposes not. 

“Good work, Jared,” Stevens says. “You were ready to defend a fellow agent in need. I’ll see that goes in your file.”

Jared beams. A commendation from a senior agent, in his first month! His mum will be so proud.

“Now, back to your guard duty,” Stevens says. “Potts and I will finish our… inventory.”

“Oh yes,” Potts says cheerfully. “Lots of inventory to do here. Might taken all afternoon. You never know.”


	15. Potts walks in on Stevens being kissed by an agent

Stevens is introduced to Agent Yelena, an imposing Russian woman who has defected from the KGB and who will be his partner on the next mission, when she drops by his office at SHIELD.

She looks down her nose at him and frowns. She’s beautiful, but her features are unsmiling and her gaze is assessing. She’s possibly the most intimidating person Stevens has ever met. 

He stands to greet her. 

“You are Stevens, yes?” she inquires, in a thick Russian accent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. We go undercover in Minsk weapons factory. You will be my, how you say, arm candy.”

It’s not his most glamorous mission, but it’s still his job to do it well. He nods.

“Good. We make handsome couple. Factory men will talk to you and ignore me. Is better that way. I can operate in quiet.”

She certainly seems to know what she’s doing, and Stevens is happy to defer to her. He hopes they can get the mission over quickly so he can get back home to-

“Now we kiss,” she says, unsmiling.

“What?” Stevens is sure he must have misheard.

“Kiss. Like lovers. Is important to look convincing.”

She notices him fidgeting and her brows furrow. “Men,” she sighs.

The next thing Stevens knows, she’s stepped right into his personal space and twined her fingers into his shirt. She yanks him forward, puts her other hand around the back of his neck and pushes their lips together.

“Mphhhaaa-” Stevens protests, but she ignores him.

Then there’s the swoosh of the door opening and Stevens jumps back.

In the doorway is Potts, mouth hanging open. He looks embarrassed and, strangely, angry.

“Agents,” Potts rallies himself. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Stevens tries to laugh it off. “I assure you this isn’t what it looks like,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

Potts’ face pinches into a scowl. “Right,” he snaps. “I’m sure you two were just bonding over your undercover mission together.”

Yelena shrugs one shoulder languidly. “Pretty much.”

Potts’ face darkens even further. “I’ll just leave you to it then.” He turns on his heel and strides off, setting a tremendous pace for a person with short legs.

“Wait, Potts, come back-” Stevens scrambles after him, unsure what’s gone wrong but hating the thought of Potts being mad at him. “Let me explain.”

As he bounds out after Potts, he catches sight of Yelena rolling her eyes. “ _Men_ ,” she says again, flicking one wrist in a universal gesture of disdain.


End file.
